Friday, 22 April 2011

The queue was long in the dark, dismal room. People waited like sheep, standing in endless lanes, occasionally shuffling forward, only to continue with their lonely vigil. ‘They’ were in charge; ‘they’ said when you could move forward to your fate.

She looked around her nervously. Officials in plain clothes stood around nonchalantly, but she knew that they were really secret police. Cameras viewed them from every wall, watching for the slightest hint of change in the faces of the men and women, resigned to their fate.

What would it be like this time? She glanced around her again, but he was not there. Perhaps nothing would happen! More people entered the room, their looks immediately compliant with their surroundings. She shuffled forward again. As the angle of her view changed, her eyes were drawn to the dark panelled door. Her heart missed a beat, for she knew what lay behind that door. She had been taken through it before. She shuffled forward again, rounding one of the bends, when she saw him. His back was to her but she would know him anywhere. This tall, blond, muscular man in a plain white, short-sleeved shirt; the man who had first led her through the dark panelled door.

She stood there looking at the ground, trying not to call attention to herself. Perhaps he would not notice her. She looked at the long queue in front of her and as he turned and smiled, she knew the fate that awaited her.

“Come with me,” he said as he took her roughly by the upper arm and led her towards the panelled door.

She made a weak attempt at struggling, but it was more for show than as a serious attempt to break free. There were looks of pity on the faces of the others, but also of relief that it was not they who were being led away. Suddenly, boredom was what they sought.

She was pushed into the almost empty room as the blond man closed the door. There was a large table in the centre with restraining straps at the four corners. She backed up against the wall, a cold shiver running over her skin.

“Are you ready to hand over the book now?” he asked as he stood in front of her.

She stood silent, her eyes lowered. He took off his shirt in readiness for the task ahead, his muscles bulging.

“I see that you’ve not yet come to your senses!”

He spun her round to face the wall, leaning her forward to balance on her hands. She was paralysed in that position as his hands slid around her body and began to unfasten the buttons on her blouse.

“Are you sure you won’t hand it over?” he asked as he lowered her arms, slipped off her blouse and unclipped the catches on her bra, sliding it from her shoulders and dropping it to the ground.

He turned her round to face him. She made no effort to cover her naked breasts. His hands cupped them, squeezing the nipples.

“I do have ways of making you hand it over,” he said menacingly.

“Then you’d better do your worst, Claus,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips onto his.

Her trembling body was obedient to every touch of his powerful arms. His hands and mouth contorted her body until she cried out in ecstasy. He easily picked her up, her limp body resigned to his will as he placed her on the table. She obediently stretched out on the cold surface, as he restrained her wrists with the straps. Then his hands tore at the rest of her clothes until she lay naked, feeling the straps being tightened around her ankles.

Now he could slow down, teasing her body with his hands and lips, certain in the knowledge that she couldn’t escape. She moaned at his touch.

“Please!” she begged; “Oh please!”

She thought of the people standing in the queue who would hear her pleas. They would feel pity at a young girl being tortured. If only they knew! The door was not locked. Anybody could just walk in and see her lying there spread-eagled naked on the table. Perhaps they would join in with the ‘torture’ and Claus would have to let them, otherwise their secret would be known. Her feelings grew more intense at this thought.

He lay on top of her and she gasped as he entered her. He moved slowly at first, agonisingly slowly until her body strained at the bonds.

“PLEASE!” she begged.

The people in the queue would once again feel pity for her. His movements grew faster and more powerful.

“Are you going to hand over the book?” he gasped.

“No! No! No! Oh GOD, Nooooooo!

“Are you sure?”

Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh GOD, Yessssssss!

Suddenly she was dressed again and standing at the front of the queue. She obediently handed the book to the woman behind the desk. The woman glanced at her, tearing out the first page and stamping the military insignia on it.

She picked up the book and returned it to her bag. Putting her money in her purse, she headed for the front door. The blond man held it open for her. She tapped him on the arm and he bent down to hear what she had to say.

“You were magnificent!”

“Thank you madam,” replied the bemused man. “We’ll see you again next week.”

“Oh I do hope so,” she said, as she left the post office and looked forward to the next pension day.

Saturday, 9 April 2011

A friend of mine once asked me to help her to write a story.She said that she wanted to write it from the perspective of her three-year-old daughter.She told me some amusing stories about her offspring, as well as some of the naughty things she got up to.

Her daughter was in the kitchen with us and had to be told constantly not to open the cupboards.Later, when her little girl was taking her afternoon nap, I asked my friend why she thought her daughter would not listen.She put it down to a childhood phase of disobedience.I could not tell her that she was thinking from an adult perspective; I had to show her.

I asked if I could use some ingredients from her cupboard; that I wanted to make a cake.She went to get them for me but I said that I would find them myself and that she should sit on the floor and see life from a child’s viewpoint.She duly obeyed and I began to bang around on the worktop, ignoring any requests at telling her what I was doing, instead telling her that she would find out in the end.It was six-and-a-half minutes before I heard the cupboard door open.

“Naughty!” I said

The look of realisation on her face was a picture.Now when she bakes, her little girl sits on the worktop and ‘helps out’.

The coach’s voice rang out like a high court judge asking for a plea.If she took the challenge of this trial and failed, she would have lost against these bullies forever.If she did not take up the challenge, they would know that they could treat her however they liked.She knew that Tom was the fastest swimmer, and during their many training sessions she had come very close to his times.But would she be able to beat these girls?They were the best that the school had to offer and they knew it!

“Emma?”

“Yes sir.I’ll give it a go.”

Tom smiled while the girls glowered at her.How dare she challenge them?

They stood huddled in a group whispering while casting the occasional glance in Emma’s direction and laughing.Tom stayed by her side.

“You go on the end lane and I’ll be in the lane next to you.Just keep pace with me and I know we’ll beat this lot!”

Mr. Black clapped his hands and everyone had found a lane before the echo had died out.

“Get to your marks.”

Emma glanced across at Tom.

“Don’t you let me win!”

Tom smiled back at her.

“Not a chance.You’ll never beat me!”

Pheep!The whistle sounded to start the race.The cold water seemed to wash away her remaining doubts, and Emma settled into her usual relaxed strokes that she had practiced so often with Tom.She felt more confident with him beside her and was comforted every time he glanced in her direction.The pace was quite fast, but Emma kept up with Tom, trusting him to keep pace with the rest.The first fifteen laps went like clockwork and the two friends kept level with each other.

Just after the turn into lap sixteen, Tom began to pull away.Emma increased her pace to keep up, knowing that there would be another increase on each of the next two lengths.At the second increase in pace, Emma began to think about the finish.This was not simply her against her friend, who would always just about beat her.This race was far more serious!This was about beating the girls who had constantly made her life a misery.Adrenalin fed her muscles as the hatred of these girls grew inside her.This was all about ending her torment!

There was renewed energy in her kick off as she made the turn into lap eighteen.She knew it was too early to sprint but her anger prevented her from holding back.There was nobody else in the pool.She had forgotten about Tom. All she felt was anger in every stroke.She turned into length nineteen, still sprinting as though her very life depended on her getting to the finish.It was as though she was trying to beat herself!Towards the end of the lap, she felt her energy waning.The turn was slower, but this was her one and only chance to beat them!The taunts roared through her brain, pumping renewed energy to her muscles.She pictured the girls faces and struck out, as though at them.Then her hand hit something solid, and the race was over.

“Jesus Emma!” panted Tom when he finally reached the end.“Jesus!”

She looked back at the girls still swimming.She had beaten them by at least half a length.She pulled herself onto the side so that she could watch their faces as they finished, but each one avoided her gaze.She had won this battle but she knew that she had not yet won the war.

Friday, 8 April 2011

Everybody leant forward in anticipation of learning something, about that which they all pretended to know.Danni continued with her narrative.

“All a man thinks about is himself.He begins by groping your tits like stress-balls.Then he wants you to do all disgusting things to him.Finally, when he’s ready, he pushes his fingers inside you a few times and tells you that he knows that you are ready.Then he lies on top of you, spreading your legs until you think your hips are coming out of joint.Any moan, groan or gasp of pain you make is taken as a compliment because he thinks he’s turning you on.Finally, when your joints are stretched to breaking point and your breathing is restricted by his weight on top of you, he starts shoving it in.”

There was utter silence until Sam’s voice whispered:

“What’s it like?”

“Can you imagine being stabbed, time and time again, each one deeper than the last?You cry out in pain, but again he treats it as a compliment.The more you struggle for your very survival: to breathe, to stop your joints from coming apart or even to escape his breath, the better he thinks he’s doing.In the end, you try to utter words of encouragement while he slobbers over your neck, just to make him finish quicker.”

Everybody was now staring at Danni in shock.Many of the girls at school claimed to be sexually active and many apocryphal stories were bandied around, but this was no story.If the way she told it did not make it plain, the tears in her eyes sealed its authenticity.

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

We seemed to be travelling for ages and I knew that we were well clear of the lake.Then we entered a tunnel which led out of the water and into a darkish area that looked like sleeping quarters.I was in the otter’s holt!

Owen put me down roughly on some leaves and told me not to move.He knew I would obey.

It was the loneliest place I had ever been.I stared at the dark tunnel, waiting for the slightest movement that would tell me someone had entered the other end.What had I done wrong?If I knew this, I might at least have been able to work out an excuse.I certainly could not be accused of not learning what I was supposed to be learning, for I had no idea what that learning was supposed to be!

The sticks at the entrance to the tunnel began to vibrate and I knew the time for guessing was over.The entrance now jerked back and forth more vigorously and then a huge hairy head squeezed its way through, quickly followed by an enormous body.The great otter stood there staring down at me while the other two wriggled into positions either side of her.